


on the sly at a stoplight ;

by therentyoupay



Series: // [1]
Category: Frozen (2013), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, College AU, F/M, Modern AU, One Shot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therentyoupay/pseuds/therentyoupay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has got to get his shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the sly at a stoplight ;

**Author's Note:**

> please don't take this shit-scrap too seriously. just a stupid, silly story about stupid, naive freshmen boys. <3 <3
> 
> playing with the idea of minimal external dialogue, age differences, silly college stereotypes, writing styles, and too many terrible ice puns. 
> 
> **disclaimer:** my freshman year of college was actually pretty damn awesome, lol. and most of this 'first year experience' is totally subjective, btw... call this the perspective from a slice of small-city urban-college life, with a couple of twists to meet my writing needs. huge thank you to **ALISON** and **SOCKS** for the beta read(s)! ~~and also not judging, because I HAVE JUDGED MYSELF.~~ honestly, this was all written in one-shot, and i didn't even think that people could _do_ that anymore. 
> 
> lastly: jack's such a genuine character that even when I try purposely try to write him as a dudebro, he can't quite seem to get the hang of it. :P
> 
> enjoy~

* * *

_**on the sly at a stoplight ;** _

* * *

One shitty apartment, 3AM; the night had started off a lot differently, but Jack really can't complain. Every freshman has to start somewhere, right?

Here is what Jackson Overland has learned about college so far:

  * Everybody is fucking nervous—even the ones who say they're not. They're lying, but hey—Jack can't fault them for trying.



  * Finding parties is a lot harder than he thought it'd be. He didn't know what he'd been expecting.  
  
Okay. So he'd sorta been expecting what they show on TV and shit, and maybe that'd never been all that realistic—but he sure as hell wasn't expecting to be freezing his ass off walking down streets for three hours, searching for “that one party” at “this guy's apartment,” who's supposed to be “this friend” or that one guy in their organic chem lab, or whatever.

  * College is hard. There's a lot of shit to take in all at once, and some days are easier than others. Some days, it's easy to feel like a King. (And some days, the days you don't really talk about with your classmates or your roommate or your friends back home, it's easy to feel invisible.)

  * There are a lot of really fucking pretty girls out there.




* * *

He has his first exam coming up on Monday, but when two girls from the floor above come knocking on his door Friday night with a _you're coming out tonight—right, Jack?_

He can't really say no.

Fast forward to 9:00PM; dining hall dinner has been eaten, perfunctory salutations have been made. (They ate at three tables pushed together with too many people crowded around the sides, because everyone was too scared to be left out of the conversation. Most of the time, Jack was at the center of it, feeding off of the energy just as much as he was feeding off the homestyle pizza. Mostly, though, he just felt lonely.)

But not anymore.  
  
Because Jack is surrounded by people in one of the corner rooms on the fourth floor, pregaming with half a dozen dormmates he only just met ten minutes ago, and at least one girl from before, who has been eyeing him up since he walked in through the door.  
  
The jungle juice has a lot more jungle than juice in it.  
  
The next thing he knows, they're all outside walking, all twenty of them, and they're running into all sorts of people while they're out—including more packs of freshmen, all looking for the same party—and Jack thinks, _why_ ?—but questioning it seems lame, and isn't nearly as much fun as following along and riding out the energy of so many people moving in the same direction. Sure beats the hell out of studying, anyway.  
  
Somewhere along the way, they lose half their group; they get separated downtown, and nobody thinks to reconnect, and the girl— _that_ girl—finds an opportunity to latch herself onto his arm, complaining about the late September cold.

Whatever, man, he'll take it.  
  
It's not until midnight that something pulls through. The group has deteriorated to a mere seven—five girls, two guys—and Jack is feeling pretty good about his chances of making out with this girl hanging on his hoodie, who is actually super hot.  
  
Which is why Jack enters the apartment with a justified feel of stupid, youthful invincibility, and decides that he just _doesn't give a fuck_ ; it's a Friday night, and he's going to enjoy himself.  
  
The girl who found them a party is named Anna, and she seems super nice and sorta cute in a weird, quirky way. Jack would totally be into her if it weren't for the fact that his surly floormate was obviously smitten. And clueless.  
  
Anyway, they're in, and it turns out that college is actually a little bit closer to the movies than he thought. The party is in someone's roomy 2-bedroom apartment halfway on the other side of town; the part that's brimming with young professionals and late night buses and cheap liquor stores. It's probably a classy pad by day, but tonight it smells like beer and sweat.  
  
Jack and his girl make with the mingling—turns out that Anna and her friend Rapunzel already know half these people here—and then find a remotely quiet space in between the clusters of people where they can laugh at each other's jokes—hers are mildly funny—and sip each other's drinks— _because that's what people do, apparently?_ —and “talk” over the loud music, which is really just an excuse to put their mouths next to each others' ears. Jack feels kind of grimy, but it's all just part of the college deal, isn't it?  
  
An hour later, and Jack's convinced himself that he likes this girl. No, really. She's got a sense of humor and she's pretty cute— _nope, stop lying to yourself, Overland, she's hot, she's so hot_ —and she's in a special program or something so she must be pretty smart.  
  
Her hands keep traveling its way onto his arm, or his shoulder, or his side. All seemingly innocent, or so Jack tells himself, because he has never been very good at reading people seriously, and the last thing he wants to do is fuck this up. He's waiting it out, playing it cool.  
  
And then Anna's sister shows up at quarter to one, and Jack forgets what he was about to say.  
  
Anna never introduces him, because her sister leaves before he has a chance to pick his jaw up off the floor, but Kristoff tells him the next morning that she's pretty cool, and intimidating as fuck.  
  
Jack can't quite bring himself to keep up the game after that, and eventually, the girl from the second floor loses interest.  
  
Anna and Rapunzel spend the night at the apartment, and Jack and Kristoff walk home alone.

* * *

 The next time Jack sees Anna's sister is a month later at a karaoke bar.  
  
He doesn't know how he's inserted himself into this friend group—only knows that Anna is feisty, and super cute, and hilarious, and totally oblivious to how badly Kristoff likes her. (Kristoff is just as oblivious, but they're the only ones.)  
  
Nutcases, both of them.  
  
Turns out Kristoff is older than they are, courtesy of a few working gap years to save up some dough, and yet—here he is, hangin' with a couple of underage kids at a karaoke place on college night instead of at a real bar. With real people.  
  
Well.  
  
He and Jack get along well enough, but Jack's not pretending; there's no question as to who Kristoff is really here for.  
  
Rapunzel is apparently seeing the guy with the apartment from that party a few weeks back, even though he's even older than Kristoff. Flynn, or whatever. Somehow, Jack has found himself with a group of people who've known each other throughout high school, through weird sibling dynamics and half-connections. Jack couldn't have even made up this shit if he'd tried, and yet here he is, welcomed in as the fun-loving, sarcastic prankster who doesn't drink a lot, but has no qualms about taking a sharpie to the forehead of anyone who dares to fall asleep wearing a pair of shoes.  
  
Her sister's name is Elsa.  
  
And she is already at a table when their little group walks in. The sight of her gets him just as much as the first time, a suckerpunch to the face, and just when he thinks he's mustered the balls to decide that he's gonna talk to her, he sees that there's a guy there, with her.  
  
He looks a lot older than Jack does.  
  
Introductions are made, but for all the sweating of Jack's palms, it's pretty anticlimactic. She's polite and courteous, but she doesn't say much, and she looks really tired. Anna keeps trying to pump back up the energy lefel—like it was when they were walking down the street—but Elsa and Hans are pretty reserved people, more content to listen and consider, and Jack doesn't know how to talk to them. Hans is more okay one-on-one, Jack thinks, but Kristoff's convinced he's a douche.  
  
Hiccup and Astrid show up later, sophomores that he once again only knows through the grace of Anna, and the table's staring to feel a little crowded. He's got a grin on, perfect crinkles at the corners, and plenty of jokes up his sleeve, though he loses his train of thought when he sees that Elsa is laughing at something he said.  
  
It's a fun night, and doesn't really feel all that forced. Anna works hard to keep everybody happy, Jack works hard to comply, and he's almost convinced himself that he's already over his thing for Elsa when she reluctantly takes the stage and opens her mouth to sing.

* * *

Jack doesn't know the whole story, but Anna and Elsa get into a fight that night.  
  
Elsa and Anna leave together for the bathroom—hushed voices and strained looks—but only Elsa comes back.  
  
Jack watches with Kristoff and Flynn as Elsa politely tells Rapunzel that Anna is requesting her presence in the bathroom, and after Rapunzel takes off, Hans is there, offering to buy her another drink. He doesn't notice that Elsa is putting on her purse, only that she says yes, and then as soon as Hans makes his way for the bar, Elsa is turning their way to say goodbye.  
  
She gives some explanation to Flynn, who looks worried but unsurprised, and nods to Kristoff, who nods worriedly back. Jack is actually only half-paying attention when all of a sudden it occurs to him that Elsa is smiling apologetically at him—though for what, he can't imagine—and says, “It was nice meeting you, Jack.”

* * *

The third time Jack sees Elsa, he is out on the town.  
  
It's the weekend before Thanksgiving break, and he has midterms all next week, but he doesn't care. Fuck it. If he doesn't know it by now, he's sure as hell not gonna know it after a worthless weekend of cramming.  
  
(And that's what Sundays are for, anyways.)  
  
It's a Saturday night and Jack is _not_ out with his usual crew. Anna and Rapunzel are both home for the holidays early, and Kristoff's off getting high with some stoners he found a few weeks back (and isn't planning on telling Anna about), and Flynn has better things to do than babysit Jack all night, like go to actual bars and shit.  
  
So he's with a group of dormmates, the ones he hasn't hung out with in a while—five or six kids who don't seem too resentful of him floating in and out when he's bored, or lonely or whatever—and as fate would have it, latching-arm girl from the second floor is out with them.  
  
She seems not to have forgotten about that weekend in September.  
  
But he's got all night to make it up to her. They don't even care about finding a party that night, anyway. They're just aimlessly roaming the streets, shooting the shit, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. She's not particularly warm towards him by eleven o'clock, but he figures pride is a funny thing, and decides that he should probably cool it, anyway.  
  
They're walking past a whole stretch of clubs—long entry lines of short, tight dresses, high heels, and some button-downs—when Jack starts to really feel his age. Funny, how he'd never much cared about his hoodie and faded jeans before. He wonders, vaguely, if he'll still be wearing this lazy shit three years from now.  
  
His sorta friends are all goofing around, making not-so-subtle remarks as they pass by. Jack's not really listening—knows they're just trying to hide the age-jealousy with jabs—when someone calls out his name.

* * *

The endless walk to where Elsa is waiting at the end of the line is embarrassing, but not nearly as bad as her invitation for him and his friends to join them.  
  
He'd be flattered by her assumption of his age, if the truth weren't so horribly depressing. Worst of all, she seems just as embarrassed as he does.  
  
“ _Eighteen_?” her eyes widen, impossibly blue. “I—wow. Forgive me, but I thought you were older.”  
  
Kill him now.  
  
His sorta friends are all standing far behind him, thankfully way too far away to hear anything that they're saying, but probably still close enough to see the spikes of her heels, the dark jeans and slim cut of her peacoat against the seasonal chill. (He wonders if that resentment might kick in soon.  
  
If he'll be deserving of it.)  
  
She's near the back of the line, thank god, or else the audience to his humiliation would probably be even bigger. As it currently stands, a few curious individuals from the front of the line have given them a double-take— _who's this kid with the crappy hoodie and roughed-up sneakers?—_ but no one else seems to much care. Except, maybe, for the rest of Elsa's friends, who have all gone on ahead a few paces in line, and are looking back at the two of them impatiently. They're all beautiful, but slightly terrifying; the redhead looks especially pissed off about the whole ordeal.  
  
“Yeah,” Jack laughs, sheepish but not, biting his tongue in a way that will hide the flinch itching to surface. “Still got a few years before this glamorous lifestyle becomes a reality.”  
  
Elsa's brow arches. “Lifestyle?” she echoes dryly.  
  
Shit.  
  
“You know—clubs, and stuff. The cool kids at the bars, or whatever it is that you legal-aged grand-folk do for fun around here.”  
  
She's looking at him strangely, and Jack knows that he's done it—he's gone and pegged himself as a total spaz— _dweeb, 100%_ —and there ain't no comin' back from that kind of label. Might as well kiss the possibility of her ever taking him seriously as a person goodbye, because it was as good as gone.  
  
“Well, what do _you_ do for fun?”  
  
And to Jack's utter horror—  
  
He can't think of how to answer her.  
  
She laughs at the expression on his face—gaping fish meets floundering sea lion, probably—and then before he knows it, Elsa is extending a hand and asking for his phone.  
  
“Well, let me know when you think of something,” is what she says as she types her name and number into his contact list, and then sends his phone off to sleep.  
  
It's placed in his hand, and Jack thinks he says something back—a _thanks_ , maybe, or a _will do—_ but nothing's quite coming together right in his head, at the moment, because she's smiling at him— _the way she laughed at the karaoke bar, a few weeks before_ —and their fingers are touching, for maybe just a half second longer than necessary; Jack doesn't have the capacity for words— _never has, if he's gonna be honest about it_ —but somehow still has it in him to count the seconds.  
  
She slips back into line with her friends just as they're being let in. She doesn't wave, or call out a goodbye, but Jack sees the smile she gives him when she finally passes out of sight, feels lightheaded from the very existence of it, like a flock of butterflies has exploded all over the wall of his stomach.  
  
He has got to get his shit together.  
  
He texts her later that night as he's walking back to the dorm with the others, justifiably distracted. They keep ribbing him for information, but he's not giving away anything, and when he sends her the first message— _stomach tight and clenching, head dizzy, grin stupid_ —it's done on the sly at a stoplight, when the others are too busy messing around to notice.  
  
Ten minutes later, Elsa texts back.


End file.
